


Home

by sentimentalPackrat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: :)))), Anger, Angst, Delusions, Gen, Happy late 4/13, Isolation, Loneliness, Mental Disintegration, Sad, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentimentalPackrat/pseuds/sentimentalPackrat
Summary: John was a home.Was.





	Home

John was a home.

John had glowed like the brightly lit rooms of full homes, the light from the inside spilling out onto a darkened, moonlit sidewalk. His skin was a tan paint, lovingly brushed onto his flesh by the sun itself. His glasses were windows staring out at the world with bright blue residents peaking out from the inside. He was warm, his body comforting in a way that only something that was built like a brick house but soft as a teddy bear could be.

John was a foundation. Strong and dependable, his mouth serving as a doorway for positivity to flow out and infect those closest to him. He let in others without question, his door and heart always open. He was a place of rest, a place of comfort, of place of warmth and light and humor. He stood strong, his muscles, much like beams that supported the structure of an aged family home, were perfectly tuned to battle with a warhammer. He was a shelter, protecting his friends from the monsters that lied in the unknown dark, beyond the pooling lights that flooded onto the dew-touched lawn.

John had many friends. John was a home.

Was.

John is a house.

There are no more friends now. Long ago, when his messages to the outside world were ignored, the fire inside his furnace was stomped out by silent loved ones who no longer needed the warmth he provided.

The remnants of his friends are made up of voices playing on repeat on the tape recorder in John's mind and ghostly shadows that haunt long maze-like hallways. At first, John wanted to ignore the figures that haunted his quickeningly deteriorating halls. At first. But, one night, a night where the clouds had siezed the moon by it's neck and it had been encaptured and covered by the clouds' dark, billowing grip, John stared up into the void that was his bedroom ceiling. Whispers from his false-friends lapped playfully at his ears, invisible smiles flooded John's ears with praises and words of love. Ghosts of touches covered the heir's body, reaching past his defenses and into his warm chest. Phantasmagoric hands greedily clutched John's heart in a strangle-hold.

In the dark of night, John giddily whispered to no one. He giggled, telling the quiet darkness of his room how much he had missed them and how lonely he was without them.

The iron grip on his heart has metastasized to his entire being. He is a warped, rotted door who is constantly being slammed by the elements. His eyes have lost their warm glow, now a dark cobalt, like walls hidden inside by blinds. His skin is pale and sickly from not stepping foot outside his abode in God-knows-how-long, plaster ripped away in strands from his form.

John is empty. There's no furniture nor food stored within him. With no fuel, he lives off sadness, loneliness, fear, and anger. He sits in the darkness, his body looking as though it is aways a second from collapse. Anger burns in his stomach like a furnace, long forgotten about, has erupted. There is no one left to care for or about him. Even the shadows of his loved ones scarcely haunt his halls now. Though, the scar they've left on his soul still stings in bittersweet remembrance.

John burns in silence.

And, like an old, abandoned house that's deemed "haunted", he sits and waits. He waits for someone foolish enough to come crawling back to him with his maw open and waiting.

John is burning. John is lonely. John is waiting.

John was a home.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (late) 4/13! Have some angst. :)))))


End file.
